


Tea for the Soul

by cassiexrailly



Category: Yellowstone (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiexrailly/pseuds/cassiexrailly
Summary: Being pregnant is the pits sometimes. Rewarding? Yes. But so very hard when morning sickness turns into all-day sickness...A part of #Hauntober on tumblr | Week 1 Day 3 | Prompt: Tea
Relationships: Kayce Dutton/Cara Mason(Dutton), Kayce Dutton/OC
Kudos: 4





	Tea for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy this cute little one-shot from a collection of them i'll be posting for #Hauntober on tumblr!!

“Fuck.” Cara mumbled the swear as she leaned over the toilet.

Kayce’s hand was all tied up in her hair, holding it back for her so that she wouldn’t have to worry about it as she threw up. It had been a few days of this now, absurd nausea that wouldn’t allow her to keep anything down for long. Sure, she was pregnant and starting to show, going through morning sickness which – even Kayce only having been a father one other time, he knew – could last much longer than morning or come on at any time during the day, randomly. “Baby, we gotta do somethin’ ‘bout this. I don’ feel righ’ leavin’ you ‘lone while I go t’work.”

Cara turned as much as she could with him still holding her hair. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles and she had bags under her eyes where the sleeplessness of being pregnant had been paired with the hormones flooding her bloodstream, making her retain more water weight than was normal for her. “Yer the Livestock Commissioner, now, Kayce… Ya can’ jus’ stay home t’help yer pregnant lady who’s sick s’a dog.” He began to protest, to shake his head and Cara held up a hand. “Ah’won’ hear ‘bout it, Kayce. Ya gotta go. I’s yer job an’ ah’won’ be party t’takin’ ya ‘way from that. An’ ah’m not ‘lone… As daddy likes t’say, ‘yer never ‘lone on this ranch’.”

Kayce’s amber brown hues looked sheepish for a moment. “Don’ be usin’ dad’s words ‘gainst me. No’ righ’ now…” He was almost chastising her.

“An’ don’ ya be such a worry wart ‘bout me righ’ now. What happens when m’big as a fuckin’ house an’ ah’can barely get up without issues an’ my ankles swellin’ an’ shit. Hmm? What happens when m’given birth, baby? How ya gonna stand yerself?”

Kayce’s mouth curved into a wider smile, more genuine and almost boastful, and he barked out laughter into the bathroom. It was loud enough it reverberated in the glass of the shower and against the marble for a couple extra seconds. “M’gonna be a Hell of a wreck, baby, an’ ya know that righ’ now. Don’ know why yer askin’ me…”

They both cracked smiles and chuckled together for a moment before she leaned into him and pressed a closed mouth ‘I’ve just been sick’ kiss to his cheek, and another to his temple. Cara’s soft voice came from behind as she laid her chin on his shoulder. “Ah’love ya, Kace. We can do anythin’n this worl’…t’gether. But we’re stronger’n this worry righ’ now.”

Kayce held her to him, between his legs on the floor of the bathroom, running his palm repeatedly over the back of her head and neck, smoothing her hair as he did. “Yer righ’… Yer always righ’. How’d I get s’damn lucky, huh? Yer s’damn strong… Yer jus’ like mom.” He fell silent for a moment as Cara pulled back and her pale eyes met his dark ones. “Jus’ don’ leave me like she left us, ‘kay? I don’ think I could make it.”

“Ain’t nothin’ could take me ‘way from ya, Kace.” Cara shakes her head, her soft palms on either side of his face and neck, caressing, reassuring. “Ah’d claw m’way outta the damn grave if ah’had to.”

“There ain’t a doubt’n m’mind tha’s true.”

● ● ●

Kayce left for work fifteen minutes or so after Cara was able to scrape herself off the tiled bathroom flooring. No one was home that she was aware of, so she moved from the master bedroom Kayce and she shared down to the main chamber of the big house, the living room. It was huge and she knew she didn’t need that much room in the slightest to lie around and feel sorry for herself, but she was willing to be immature today. If anyone was due, she was certainly due…

She had pulled the small metal pail off the counter behind the bar when she entered, the kind used for icing champagne. It was merely preparation, a what-if concoction; if she needed to throw up again and she was asleep or out of it, too slow to get to a sink or garbage or toilet before she blew, she could use the pail in a pinch. It was also a precaution taken to save floors, walls, rugs and various upholstery from the potential oncoming onslaught. Cara was sure daddy and the cleaning crew would thank her. Next came the Sherpa blanket off the larger sofa, curling up on the loveseat designed for two which bordered the area directly around the fireplace. It had become Kayce’s and her spot at night, just big enough for them, and for Tate, too, if he chose to cuddle up to them. She fell asleep not soon after and only awakened three hours later when the back door of the big house that led directly into the kitchen slammed hard like a clap of thunder.

Cara woke with a start, her eyes shooting open. She jumped in her space and was sitting, the blanket puddling down around her middle and lap before she knew it. “Wha’ the fuck!?” Wiping sleep from her eyes, she got to her feet. Momentarily, the nausea had taken a backseat to her adrenaline at being awoken so abruptly. Her feet carried her toward the kitchen where, she could now here a man’s voice gruffly swearing up a storm.

She knew that voice better than any other by tone, by his base, alone.

Rip Wheeler.

When she came around the corner of the doorframe, she had her hands on her hips. “What the fuck’re ya doin’n here cussin’ an’ slammin’ an’ fuckin’ this, fuck that, ‘bout!?” It came off stronger than she thought she was capable of. The nausea was quickly winning the fight between it and the adrenaline she’d woken to.

Rip slammed the drawer shut and gestured to her with a gloved hand. “Don’ fuckin’ test me, Car. I’m not havin’ the best o’ days.”

“N’fuckin’ shit!” Her eyes narrowed at him before she smiled. “Who got ya this trumped up, Rip?”

“Fuckin’ Jimmy. An’ yer li’l ex lover-boy boyfriend, Kade ain’t too far b’hind.”

“O’ course… Ah’don’ even know why ah’asked…”

“I don’ believe in a lot o’ mystical bullshit but I sure b’lieve in stupid, Car, ‘cause those boys prove it ev’ry fuckin’ day.”

She chuckled for a moment, genuinely happy Rip had awoken her for this exchange. It had been a couple days since she’d seen his face. All the men worked hard on the ranch, some harder than others, and the foreman before her was the hardest working of them all. If she hadn’t been so laid up…

“Jus’ what’re you doin’ ou’ here? I thought you were sicker’n a cripple’ coon…?” He gave her a once over, not saying the words. They were both thinking it anyway. She looked a mess. Poor thing.

The laughter didn’t last long and by the time the smell of Rip’s sweat paired with grass and hay and the smell of manure and horse reached her nose, she wasn’t replying to him, either. She lunged past the large man, straight for the sink. Her palms hit the sides and edge of the top of the counter as she put her upper half over it. It took one retch for whatever was in her stomach to lose itself. She felt Rip watching her even as she threw up in the sink. She hadn’t realized what he was doing when he took his gloves off, then his hat and shades, and put it all on the opposite counter. He grabbed her long hair out of her face, some bile and spittle on it, and turned the high styled faucet some people called pot fillers, rinsing the pieces he held under the spray. He wasn’t squeamish, not one bit. “Ya don’ have t’do tha’, Rip… M’alrigh’…”

“Kayce would never fer’give me if I walked ‘way from his woman’n this condition. An’ yer daddy wouldn’ neither.” He gruffly but lovingly responded. “M’job’s always been protectin’ an’ takin’ care o’ this fam’ly.”

“An’ ya always done it, Rip. S’okay t’leave it t’me righ’ now. Not yer baby…” She looked up into his eyes, her guilt remembering how Beth couldn’t have any for him, and her shame at having been so weak around him. “Won’ love ya any less if ya take a bow an’ retreat slow, Rip.”

“Hell, no, honey. Tha’s not what this man’s made out o’. Sit down an’ we’ll see jus’ what we can do fer ya, sweetheart.”

“Rip…”

“Naw, yer not gettin’ rid o’ me. Sit yer ass down.”

Rip surprised her with the way he moved around a kitchen. He surprised her further when he began to move around theirs like he was just as comfortable as he was in his. Cara sat there, her flannel pajamas anything but keeping her warm enough, that she donned her thick Sherpa robe, too. Between the robe and the blanket and her fluffy socks she’d practically been on fire, but here, she was mildly too upset about the state of her stomach to care about the slight chills. It made her think maybe she was suffering from more than morning ‘anytime’ sickness.

He was making fry bread and tea. “My mama used t’make fry bread fer us almost ev’ry mornin’. O’ course usually it’s heaped up with other breakfast items, sausage an’ eggs an’ maple syrup all over it.” He looked up at her from under his prominent brow ridge. “M’not givin’ you all that, don’ worry.”

“Bless’d be.” She smiled softly, watching him as he worked. “Ya think i’s somethin’ else, too, don’ ya?” When he looked up at her again, Cara answered the unspoken question. “What ya thinkin’? Ah’know ah’been… Col’, flu, somethin’…?”

“May’be flu. Don’ know. What I do know, is you ain’t ate a damn thing ya kep’ down in three days jus’ ‘bout an’ that ain’t good fer yer li’l minion.”

She chuckled softly. “Ain’t even mad ya called ‘em that. Don’ know if i’s a he ‘er she, yet…obviously.”

The tea smelled faint and soft in its way. It wasn’t a scent she usually smelled around the ranch. It was always black harsh tea made into iced sweet, or strong coffee. The fry bread came off the pan and onto a cutting board where Rip cut it in strips similar to tortillas when someone was making a casserole with them. He handed her the cutting board before he turned around and went for the old-fashioned tea kettle on the old fire stove behind him – he had been using the new gas stove built into the island for the fry bread. When he turned around he had a glass mug filled halfway with pale green yellow tea. “Green tea with jasmine. Don’ know much ‘bout all the fancy ass teas ou’ there but ah’ know green tea’s light on the stomach an’ light on the caffeine. Perfect fer baby an’ hopefully…perfect fer mama, too.”

Cara’s soft smile was all it ever took to melt the blackest of hearts and turn it warm again. Rip didn’t have quite that problem, but if he did, and Cara had looked at him like that, and neither one of them had been tied to other people, he probably could have loved her like Kayce did. She was an easy woman to love. She always put others before herself and he’d always felt like family to her. And she was sure family to him. “Ya know, Rip…” She spoke quietly, taking a sip of the mildly sweetened tea, and waiting for the worst to happen. It didn’t. “Ah’don’ think anybody’s ever done somethin’ like this fer me ‘sides Kace, an’ my daddy. An’ they have to b’cause o’ who they are’n my life…” She takes another sip, and looks down at the steaming pale liquid that brought her peace, back up at the only other man in her life she’d ever love as much as Kayce and her daddy, and never be able to make him realize it like he deserved, the only man besides Kayce who could have given her peace today. “Ah’tol’ Kace…yer never really ‘lone on this ranch. An’ sometimes, when yer righ’…ya get more’n some tea an’ a calm stomach fer the first time in days.” She trailed off while staring at the steeped water.

“Sometimes ya get tea fer the soul.”


End file.
